


you will get your first taste

by k8 (paintedmaypole)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-25
Updated: 2006-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedmaypole/pseuds/k8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am going to win this pool game, I am going to get this girl, and I am going to like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you will get your first taste

**Author's Note:**

> Grateful thanks to kel., Imogen, and Katie for the beta. Title from "Speaking in Tongues" by The Eagles of Death Metal.

Dean has his arm around a blonde girl and a beer in his hand. He's tipping  
his head back, laughing, and showing his teeth to the world, plus Sam.  
His teeth are saying, yeah, this is going well, this is going so well.  
I am going to win this pool game, I am going to get this girl, and I am  
going to like it. And Sam, who's just been staring into a plastic mug  
for the past hour, watching the beer in it rise and fall, doesn't really  
want to think about any of this, or what's going to come next or the myriad  
of reasons why the grin on Dean's face is pissing him off.

Sam's watching though, out of the corner of his eye, and he can see when  
Dean drains the rest of his mug and looks back at Sam, eyebrow raised  
in a way that says, hey, come over, she's probably got a friend around  
here somewhere. Instead Sam shrugs, looks down at his cup-- empty, mostly--  
and detaches himself from the stool, heading towards the door.

 

\--

 

Dean's lying back on his ass, breathing a little heavy and knowing that  
he's grinning a little like a tool, but not minding much. The sex was  
good, way good. She's got a place, a huge bed, and Dean's used two out  
of the three condoms in his jacket already.

He dozes for a bit, lying next to her and appreciating the view whenever  
he opens his eyes again. Which is a lot really, because he can't stay  
asleep long. Eventually he can't even pretend to be sleeping and he's  
just feeling the urge to move, so he does. He rolls out of bed, finds  
his jeans, his shoes, his shirt, and skips out while she's still sleeping.

When he leaves the apartment the sun isn't out yet but it's not as dark  
as it was a half-an-hour earlier and he stops a minute, because it's light  
enough that he can see Sam, sitting on the steps of the front porch waiting  
for him and looking tense.

Dean starts down again and winces because his boots are banging on the  
floorboards. He nods at Sam when he gets to the bottom of the stairs.  
"Miss me?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Heaps." He kicks at the ground and then  
starts back towards the bar, where the car is waiting, and Dean just follows.  
Sam drives them back to the motel and it's only a block or two away, Dean  
figured Sam just walked back, but when he throws his jacket at the floor  
and looks at the beds neither of them are even rumpled.

"Waiting up for me, Sammy?" Dean raises an eyebrow at him.

"Fuck you." Sam glares at him and kicks off his shoes, then  
pulls at the comforter. "Just wake me up if I sleep past ten."

 

\--

 

Next they need to head towards a town named Lefburg to check out a series  
of suicides. Sam wakes up just before ten and Dean's all ready to go so  
Sam tosses the three or five things he needs to pack up into a grocery  
bag and grabs the keys before Dean can. He drives the first five hours,  
not thinking about anything but the road ahead of him except when he looks  
into the windows of minivans. Eventually though, they get hungry and stop  
at a truck stop named "Phil's Fill" for meatloaf and rice pudding.  
Afterwards, Dean makes the grab for the keys and then they're off again,  
music blasting and Dean's hands beating out some sort of rhythm on the  
steering wheel.

Sam's reading the paper and watching Dean from behind his sunglasses.  
He checks the obituaries first, because that's what they do. Then there's  
also an article about a girl winning the state spelling bee, a dip in  
soybean prices, and about twenty different ads for debt relief and another  
twenty for suicide prevention.

Sam leans back and watches Dean's hands on the wheel. He's got a splint  
on his left index finger and every few minutes the metal clinks against  
something. Sam stares at Dean's finger, then his face, and tries to see  
a family resemblance.

"What?" Dean looks over at him suddenly, annoyed.

"What?" Sam blinks back at him.

"You're being," Dean shakes his head. "You're being twitchy."

"Whatever." Sam rolls his eyes. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you're fucking annoying me," Dean glares at him.  
"You want to drive or something?"

Sam glares back at him. He can feel Dean already slowing the car, in  
case Sam wants him to pull over. "Fuck you, no." Sam crosses  
his arms and pushes himself back in his seat. "I'm sleeping; can  
you put the volume on this crap down?"

Dean grunts something at him and then yanks the volume down, looking  
back at the road. Sam closes his eyes behind his shades and pretends to  
sleep.

 

\--

Dean has dreams sometimes about people he can't remember. The usual things,  
like faces without faces and hands touching him that aren't connected  
to anyone he can see. He wakes up frustrated and usually wants to start  
a fight with someone, immediately, getting angry with Sam at the smallest  
twitch of his hands. Dean isn't sure why it's the hands and the feeling  
of fingers on his hip that makes him think it's Sam, but he tries not  
to think about it. Much.

They arrive in town without getting lost and discover Lefburg center  
is just a slightly overwhelmed intersection. It has all the regulars.  
A diner on one side, pizza joint, liquor store, and hardware store on  
the other. Sam waves him towards the gas station down the block and Dean  
points the car at it.

They don't talk again until later, when they're checked into a motel  
and Sam starts flipping through fast food menus, holding up two at Dean  
with his right hand.

"Chinese?"

"Whatever," Dean shrugs and looks away, "get me something  
with chicken."

Sam nods and reads the menu for a little longer, then calls in something  
for the both of them. When he looks back up at Dean, his hand is still  
on the phone, and Dean watches him, feeling something cold hitting at  
the bottom of his neck. He shakes his head to clear it, but when he looks  
back Sam is opening his mouth, like he actually wants to talk about it,  
which is the last thing in the world Dean wants to do. Instead Dean stands  
up, heads towards the bathroom, and turns on the shower as fast as he  
can. He doesn't even try to tell himself he's not hiding.

 

\--

 

Sam figures out that the third suicide was on a full moon. It's not a  
coincidence, there's no way, and he's already found about five different  
articles about a time, just after World War I, when all of this happened  
in the same exact way. Now they just need to find a body and do some good  
old-fashioned grave desecration.

This is harder than it looks. Sam spends a lot of time in the stacks  
at the Lefburg library looking up tax records and arguing with Dean. Dean's  
convinced it’s the ghost of the mayor's great-grandmother, Sam thinks  
it might be her brother, but either way Sam thinks the constant fighting  
is stupid. It just means Dean goes off to brood about whatever his problem  
is and Sam thinks way too much about all the things he'd rather forget  
about completely.

They go out at night to look over an old field and pasture site with  
a barn that's past dead and matching farmhouse. Nothing there sticks out  
as a family gravesite, but Sam's tired. He wouldn't be surprised if it  
was right in front of them and they fell on top of it without noticing.

Instead of looking down at where he's putting his feet, Sam watches Dean  
from behind and thinks about the girl from the bar. He thinks about how  
he stopped in the bar's parking lot to wait and see, maybe tease Dean  
if he got turned down. Mostly he wishes he'd never followed them back  
to her place and never watched anything, because he's waking up each night  
thinking about things like Dean's mouth on his or how bad it might be  
to stick his hand down Dean's pants.

 

\--

 

Eventually Dean finds the bodies in the woods. There's a creek, a well,  
and a tree that's huge and at least two hundred years old. It looks like  
there used to be a house and a usable dirt road, but now it's all overgrown  
and it takes Dean getting lost and twisting an ankle to find anything.  
The moment he hits on the track though, and the gravel, Dean knows. He  
can feel the tension in the air telling him they're close, and the faint  
smell, like ozone, that says there are things around them, waiting to  
make a move.

It's cold for the time of year and darker under the trees than it should  
be. Spooky mostly, which is to be expected. Dean just grins at Sam each  
time it gets a little darker, a little colder, "Someone doesn't like  
us."

Then there's adrenaline, because there always is, but there's also relief,  
because Dean feels tense everywhere and maybe, finally, he'll get to put  
his hands on something and mix it up a little.

 

\--

 

Later, much later, after Sam falls in the creek, then wrenches an elbow  
and gets to watch as Dean fucks up his hand again, they trek back to the  
motel.

Sam has a cut under his chin, another across his wrist, and a sort of  
puncture wound on his palm from rolling around and hitting some rocks.  
He's not sure why the nails were there, waiting for him, but they hurt  
like hell when he hit them and again when Dean grabbed him and pulled  
them out. The two of them dug up three graves total, salted everything,  
and then lit the bonfire.

Sam smells like smoke and there's soot up his nose. He looks around the  
motel room for extra towels and Dean tries to make a joke about bringing  
marshmallows next time they do this, but it comes out cracked and he bites  
it off before finishing.

Instead Dean starts pacing. First he tosses his shoes in the corner,  
then his shirt, and Sam just stands there, wiping at his face and arms  
with a bath towel to get rid of some dirt and not knowing what to do.  
Dean's walking around the bed, looking angrily at the newspaper articles  
they've taped to the walls and Sam goes over to him, doesn't even think  
about it, just walks over and to say hello, hi, just to get Dean to chill  
out. When he gets closer Dean looks surprised and it seems like he's going  
to say something, but nothing comes out and Dean looks a little stuck  
there, like a fish, opening and closing his mouth. Then Sam touches his  
shoulder and it gets more complicated, because Sam's trying not to jump  
straight out of his skin at the shock of something hot and cold hitting  
his hand at the same time.

 

\--

 

Dean doesn't know what Sam's saying. There are sounds coming out of his  
mouth, sounds that seem like consonants and vowels, that seem like they  
have an order and a rhythm to them that Dean associates with conversation,  
but he doesn't recognize anything.

Instead Dean just hears the sound of his own breathing, heavy and irregular  
in his chest, air coming out and in through his nose in short bursts.  
He's got his mouth on Sam's cock, his chin against Sam's thigh, and his  
fingers digging into the skin and muscle on either side of Sam's hips.  
It's good. It's horrible, but it's good and Dean feels like he's probably  
fucked for ever thinking of this, but now that they're doing it he's not  
going to stop. Instead he watches as Sam's chest rises and falls, watches  
the way he hitches his hips up, pushing his dick further into Dean's mouth  
and throat, and Dean tries to remember to breathe in through his nose  
again, before he gets even dizzier. Later, much later, he'll lie back,  
he'll try to get some sleep, and he'll see how long this lasts.


End file.
